Dust

All the old dusty objects begin to fill my room,
All the dusty old objects that used to belong to you.
Some of them I wear,
Some I read,
Some I search through,
All I cherish.
They somehow look better when covered in dust,
That dust which is now all you are.
Now they begin to gather my dust too,
These old objects
Are now ours,
Not just yours,
With you gone
In some way we have grown closer,
As I become you.
As our dust mixes
On the sleeves of these old books,
On the keys of that old typewriter,
On the rim of those old glasses.
All the old dusty objects begin to fill my room,
All those dusty old objects that used to belong to you,
All those dusty old objects,
Now belong to me
Renewed with fresh eyes,
Under fresh gaze,
These old objects, new to me,
This old dust, gathers new dust too,
Fills my room,
Fills my life,
Fills my lungs,
As it filled yours
And took you from your room,
And made you dust.